


The night watch.

by orange_crushed



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_crushed/pseuds/orange_crushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She told him once that she can hear the sound of rust, the spreading of roots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The night watch.

He walks at night, when he should sleep; they all do from time to time, restless without the sound of television and radio, refrigerators, the humming they knew as teenagers that wove itself into their skin. They pace and they fiddle with the straps on their fatigues, they drink hot water with one teabag to every three cups. When he passes them, they look up but they don't speak- they nod their heads, they let him move, alone, as a ghost is allowed to move. He is their leader, their keystone, the center of the arch that bridges them. At night he walks and feels the trembling in the earth, and wonders when he will fall.

The edge of the camp is a sewer tunnel, a culvert and a drainage ditch that looks up at the sky. He set her there to watch because she can watch, tirelessly, never growing bored of the changing sky and the metal under her boots. She told him once that she can hear the sound of rust, the spreading of roots.

He doesn't know if he believes her.

"I heard you coming," she says. She turns her head. "The sole of your left shoe is wearing down."

"You sound like my wife." He sits beside her, under the grating that offers them cover. She does sound like Katherine when she talks about his shoes. "What have we got ?"

"Two drones," she says, indicating their direction with the tilt of her gaze, "but they're two kilometers off, and moving away. They're not equipped for heat-seeking scans." She doesn't smile, but something flickers beneath the flesh that isn't all wires and steel. "Nor can they smell your troops."

"I'm personally offended on their behalf," he says. And pauses. He leans forward, chin in his hands. "Was that a joke ?"

"Good grooming is vital for group harmony in close quarters," is all she'll say.

They pass the time together in silence, a comfortable one for him. He doesn't know what it is for her- maybe she plays music in her own head, runs through battle simulations, sets a personal best in Pong. He knows from experience that there's a lot of space in her head, a lot of things he'll never touch or see; even things of his, memories, that she'll hold onto long after he's dead. She doesn't cling to memory the way he does, the way they do; she keeps it because she simply _does_ , because she always has, because everything is useful.

He wonders what she thinks of him, in his weakest moments. What she thought when they met, when she saved him over and over, when she trusted his hands inside her skull. If anything, she's probably unimpressed. "You're brooding," she says.

"I'm not."

She rolls her eyes. He's not sure a machine's supposed to do that. At him.

"You doubt yourself."

"Everybody does." It's an obvious slip, and he knows it. "I mean, everyone doubts themselves sometimes. You wonder if you'll get up tomorrow with the fight you had in you today. You wonder if you'll-" -he hears Katherine in his head, before she went to sleep. _I know you can. I know you can_. "-you wonder if you can."

"You will."

"Oh, that's great." He doesn't know why he's angry, except that he is; he's sitting in the dark with a robot, and in her calm voice she belittles the doubts in the hours before the dawn, his human struggle. "Thanks so much for that. It really helps."

"Now you're angry with me."

"I'm not." He hangs his head. "Maybe a little. Because it's so easy for you. You follow a directive. You chart a course and you make it happen, or you die. You don't worry about leaving them behind."

"I would leave you," she says. And tilts her head, so like a girl, a behavior so practiced that she wears it in her skeleton now, a gesture she completes with her arms and eyes. The machine ends, and she begins. The war started and he fought it, led it, but he never forgot how beautiful they were on the inside, the twists of wires and the jump of sparks, the way things flared to life in his hands, the electric wonder of new current. He understands the men who built Skynet, and he pities them; they created but they were not God, and so they did not understand the price. He wants to be cruel again, remind of her of her place, but he can't. Whatever she was before she met him, she isn't now.

Neither, to be fair, is he.

"So," he asks the machine, heart oddly in his throat, "you think I can ?"

"I don't know _can_ , John Connor," she says. Her eyes are blue, not red. They're full of light. "I only know you will."


End file.
